Vayne Thoughts
by Ikonopeiston
Summary: The first thing Drace noticed when she was shown into the room was how dim the light was.
1. Chapter 1

Square-Enix is the sole begetter and only title holder to the characters and setting of this story. I am a humble petitioner at the feet of the masters.

**VAYNE THOUGHTS**

Vayne despised the Judges, not hated, despised. They were useful in their way but their reliance on the coarse tools of violence disgusted him. This is not to say that he scrupled to order that tool for his own purposes, however he preferred the subtle, smoothness of suggestion or, if necessary, poison. Violence was almost always the result of incompetence and he resorted to it only when he wished to make his resolve clear and unmistakable.

The Judges were a necessary evil in his eyes and he courted their support in his on-going battle with the Senate which distrusted him to the same degree as he distrusted most of the political schemers who circled around him like so many predators. He stroked the length of his elegantly narrow nose. It was a frequent gesture of his, one which strangely comforted him. He was glad he had inherited that feature from his mother and was not cursed with a short upturned nubbin like Larsa.

Larsa - now there was another thought. The Senate and many of the Judges, including some of the Judge Magisters, misinterpreted his intentions in the matter of Larsa. Just because it was widely rumoured that he had been behind the unfortunate and early demises of his two older brothers, they thought he posed a danger to the youngest. How foolish of them. They had misjudged him so completely he despised them more than ever, this time for their stupidity. He had learned over time that to openly assume power was to invite assassination. Who should know that better than he? He was devoted to his young brother and when the time came for a new Emperor, Larsa was welcome to the throne so long as he, Vayne, could stand behind it whispering in the ear of the throne-sitter and pulling the marionette's strings.

With a brittle laugh, Vayne threw himself down in the large chair which was not quite a throne and not quite an ordinary piece of furniture. He looked around him. The rooms in this building were too big, high and filled with shadows and echoes. It was difficult to tell when eyes were watching and that made him uneasy. It was unpleasant to have to remain in this palace and was also a burden to have to wear the traditional armour with its sharp protrusions and awkwardly fitting sections during his waking hours because he might be called upon at any time to preside over some petty squabble or personal quarrel. Governance took its toll. He hoped Larsa would enjoy the ceremonial aspects better than he did.

How did the Judges bear the constant heaviness of the full-body mail they wore at all times? Vayne could not remember ever seeing one of them in ordinary clothes. At best, they would remove their helmets as a sign of courtesy, otherwise they relied upon the unique distinction of their shells to identify them to one another and the populace at large. He, in contrast, was permitted to breathe the fresh air, free to see without a visor's interference and able to move without clanking or looking like a robotic war machine. Small victories, but real ones for all that.

The Judges and the Senate, his mind returned to his central problem. They formed an ever shifting ground filled with pitfalls for him. He must tread carefully to keep them at one another's throats and away from his own. The times when they formed their occasional alliances were the dangerous moments and he had to strike swiftly to break the confederations. Yet there remained those in both camps who were willing to set aside their traditional enmity in order to plot against him. Among the Judges, Drace was the most solidly opposed to him. She was the only female amongst the Judge Magisters and did not trust him, principally because of her attachment to Larsa and her doubts about his intentions toward his young brother. It would be to his benefit to turn her if that was possible or eliminate her if it was not.

Drace. Vayne called up his recollections of her. They were few. He had seen her face from time to time when courtesy had compelled her to remove her helmet. It was an intriguing face, young and stern but with a hint of softness under its formal mask. He wondered what she would look like without her exoskeleton. This might be the time to find out. He was usually successful with women. There was no reason to think he would be less so with a female Judge. And if he was, there was always the other way.

"You there! At the door!" When the attendant made a knee before him, the Consul-Governor directed, "Tell the Judge Magister Drace that I require her appearance before me at once."

The servant bowed and turned toward the door. Vayne ran a hand over his chin. "You! Wait. Send my barber to me first." He had felt a bit of stubble along his jaw. It would never do to rasp her skin which was probably tender and delicate from being shielded by her armour. The first duty of a gentleman was to protect his woman. He smiled. Hungrily.

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

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	2. Chapter 2

**THE SUMMONS**

The word reached the Judge Magister Drace as she was preparing for her bath. Her servant had helped her unbuckle and unstrap the heavy armor which was her normal presentation and identification to the world. The armor had been designed especially for her by one of the foremost fabricators in the city and gave her the unyielding and fierce appearance which was appropriate to her status. Once she was encased in that carapace neither her age nor her sex was discernible. She became the image of justice, swift and certain. Now her outer shell loomed over her, its parts freshly polished and carefully placed on the rack which permitted it to dry and maintain its sullen sheen.

She stretched, long and luxuriantly, glad of the relief afforded by the easing of the heavy armor. It was, she reflected with a wry smile, one way to develop muscles, something like hours of lifting weights every day. With a grunt of pleasure, she stripped off the padded tunic which served to protect her skin from being chafed and bruised by the pressure of the metal plate. It was wonderful to be able to rub the sore places and scratch the itching ones. The under padding was supposed to help but there always spots where the metal rubbed against tender skin raising blisters and welts. With a relieved sigh, Drace began to unwind the bandaging which held her breasts tight against her rib cage. The other parts of her discarded undergarments lay in an untidy heap to the side.

The sound of the door opening and closing distracted her from her concentration. No one was supposed to intrude as she prepared for her bath. A muffled clanking from behind the draft screens told her that the one approaching was a judge - only judges made that particular sound when they moved. True to her deductions, Gabranth strode into view. He was a fellow Judge Magister and she would have recognized him by his armour even had he not removed his helmet and carried it under his arm. His gauntlets dangled from his belt and he looked tired.

"Good! I was hoping to catch you before you took your rest. What word have you had of young Larsa?"

"Nothing unusual. He seems safe enough at the moment. I'm keeping a careful watch when I can. And you?" Drace continued to loosen her breast bindings.

"Things look all right to me so far." He paused, appearing a little uncertain. "There was another..." 

What Gabranth was about to say died in his throat as an excited servant burst into the room, overturning two of the screens. "Judge Magister! You have a message from Lord Vayne!"

Both Judges reached for the envelope before Gabranth drew back, realizing it must be for Drace. The two exchanged startled looks. A message from Vayne was rarely benign. Drace carefully broke the seal and read the single line on the paper.

"He wants to see me. Now. Well, at least it's not in his own hand so it's not one of those secret meetings."

"The ones where somebody tends to disappear?"

"Exactly."

"He wants you now? At this hour? Why?"

"How should I know? Damn! I wanted my bath."

"Go on and take the time. He won't know." Gabranth was feeling truculent. He had carefully planned this encounter and now it was ruined.

"He'll know. The note says 'at once'." Drace refastened the bindings around her breasts then resignedly bent to pick up the discarded undergarments she had recently doffed. "Whew! These stink. Vayne won't notice under the metal but I do and I hate it. They're clammy and I don't have time to send out for a fresh set." She pulled the clothing on and adjusted the sleeves and leggings on her limbs. "At least, my armor's polished."

Gabranth had been thinking. "Drace, why do you think he wants to see you in such a hurry with no warning?"

"Maybe he can't sleep and wants me to sing him a lullaby." She was too annoyed to guard her tongue.

"I doubt it's about Larsa. He'd want witnesses if he were going to do something with the boy. With his history, he can't afford any more suspicions. So anything about Larsa, he'll do in the full light of day and with convincing reasons." He was still turning the thoughts in his mind, his gaze unfocused.

Suddenly an alarming idea occurred to him. "Drace, has he ever ... you know ... made advances ..."

She spun around, laughter shining on her face. "Vayne? To me? You got to be kidding. I doubt he even sees me as a woman. What made you think of that?"

"The summons. The hour. The strangeness of him sending for you like this."

Drace scoffed, "He just likes to do things because he can. He likes having power and showing it off. I'll mention you know where I am. He didn't say it was a secret. That'll warn him not to try anything."

Gabranth did not smile in return. "Yes. That should assure your safety. He's not going to do anything if he thinks he'll get caught."

By now, Drace had stepped into her rigid uniform. The rack was designed to make it possible to do so and long practice had taught her to slide her slim body into the assembled carapace without assistance for the most part.

"Here. Give me a hand with the gauntlets. I don't think I'll put my helmet on. Just have to take it off again at the door."

"Want me to comb your hair?" 

"Oh, damn! I forgot to do that. Please."

He picked up the bone comb from the dresser and carefully drew it through her hair, smoothing the soft strands back from her face and stroking them flat with his palm. "There. Now you look presentable for our master." He patted the crown of her head and leapt back as she half-jokingly swung her heavily metaled arm at him. "Will you tell me what he wanted?"

"Sure. I'm curious myself." She sniffed at the air surrounding her and suddenly grinned. "You know what? I'm not worried about my virtue. Nothing turns off passion faster than day-old sweat mixed with metal polish."

Gabranth clapped her on the back, hearing the clang of his vambrace against her armour. "I never thought of that. Not that I doubt you can take care of yourself under any conditions, but every edge..."

Drace twisted her head to look up at the man from under her brows. He was a good companion, one she was glad to have on her side, one she could trust in a world of shifting allegiances. She strode out into the corridor and down the passageway to the courtyard. The two allies continued on their way, side by side, laughing easily together to disguise their apprehension.

Tuesday, August 5, 2008

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	3. Chapter 3

**THE JOUST**

The first thing Drace noticed when she was shown into the room was how dim the light was. Usually here in the palace, the chambers blazed with brilliance so that no corner was obscure and lurkers were unlikely. But this room, large and with a vaulted ceiling was filled with shadows and she could not immediately see who or what was inside. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she was not surprised to recognize the figure of Vayne, lounging on a couch near a shallow pool from which wisps of vapor constantly rose.

"Ah, Judge Drace. Do come in and get comfortable. I'm sure that metal uniform is as burdensome to you as my armor is to me. As you see, I have shed mine. Why don't you do the same?" And, indeed, he was clad in a brocaded garment which covered him from his neck to his ankles and draped about his wrists in folds of vivid colour which glowed even in the shadowy room.

"Thank you, but I am accustomed to the weight and will be better able to perform my duties if I am properly garbed." She maintained her dignity as well as her grasp on her helmet.

"I have no immediate duties for you. You were summoned so that we might talk...about Larsa and other things. I insist that you relax and you might as well start by removing that metal skin." There was no mistaking the command in his voice nor the glitter in his dark eyes. "There is an armor rack to your left. Have I made my suggestion clear?"

"You have, my lord." Stoically, Drace stripped off her gauntlets and fastened them at her waist. She no longer had any doubt of his intentions. There was, then, to be a battle- one she would have to fight most carefully. To lose would be to endanger not only herself but also Larsa. She fancied herself to be the most dedicated and strongest of the walls defending the boy from meeting the fate of so many other members of his family. A sickness rose in her throat at the thought of what might happen to the young one if she was not there to protect him and the threat had been implicit but unmistakable to her mind. So she knew she must be careful in her jousting with Vayne, the one who held such unchecked power over them all.

She walked over to the armor rack. Vayne had not lied; it was the kind she used in her arming room at home, the kind which enabled her to slide in or out of her metal shell with a minimum of assistance. She was grateful that she did not have to request his aid and give him an excuse to touch her. Making no effort to cover herself or to turn aside, she unfastened the straps and buckles which held her armor in place. She had changed in the company of her fellow judges and thought nothing of it. This should be no different; but it was. She hated to bare her body before those lustful eyes. Without deigning to shield herself from Vayne's devouring gaze, Drace peeled off her sweat-soaked padded undergarments for the second time that day. Her host leaned back on the couch and watched with some amusement as she began the unwinding of the bandages which held her breasts tight to her rib cage.

"It must be a relief to be rid of all that bulk around your body," he observed stroking his fingers down the aristocratic length of his nose and delicately flaring his elegant nostrils. "Those garments, the underarmor, must be uncomfortable after you have worn them all these hours." He waved a hand at the pool near him. "Use my bath. I have had fresh water drawn and it is kept at an even temperature by an ingenious device. You will find it very refreshing." Again the note of command sounded in his voice.

"Thank you. I enjoy my bath each evening," she responded flatly.

When she was naked and her clothing heaped in a careless pile by the edge of the pool, she stepped in and let the warmth of the scented water embrace her. She had never before experienced such luxury. The water felt smooth and caressing against her skin, dissolving the aches, soothing the chafed areas, floating away the sweat and grime, leaving her calmed and clean.

After a much longer time than she had intended or realized, she looked up to find Vayne's amused eyes watching her languid motions. At once, the present returned and she was suddenly self-conscious. She pushed herself out of the bath and reached for the towel her tormentor extended with exquisite courtesy.

Making an effort to match his composure, Drace muttered, "Thank you. The bath was most welcome and refreshing." When she had dried herself, she stretched a hand towards the untidy stack of undergarments, although she could hardly bear the thought of pulling the reeking clothes over her clean flesh.

"You need not put those on again. Here, wear this." He held out to her a robe, similar in style to the one he wore but in softer colors. "I think this will be less ... fragrant." His mouth curved into what seemed to be intended as a friendly smile.

She silently accepted the garment and, dropping the towel, slid her arms into the wide sleeves. She wrapped the robe, which was subtly perfumed, light and barely opaque, around her and knotted the sash about her narrow waist.

"Come, sit by me and let's talk." Vayne indicated the other half of the couch on which he sprawled and smiled again.

"Why did you send for me, my lord?" Drace sat down on the extreme edge of the couch, trying to maintain a dignified posture. She soon found that the yielding surface defied all her efforts to sit up straight, tipping her back into its soft depths.

Vayne lifted his brows in amusement and stroked the length of his nose. He remained silent, content to let her discover for herself that she must lean back against the cushions. When she had surrendered to inevitability and to gravity, he shifted position so that he could look fully into her face.

"I wanted to hear your report on the health and morale of my brother. How is Larsa faring? I haven't had the leisure to monitor him as closely as I would like."

Drace had failed to notice that his arm, carelessly placed on the back of the couch, was encircling her shoulders until his hand touched the bare skin above the neck of her robe. She inched away.

"He is doing well, my lord. His skill at arms is remarkable."

The man's hand again made its delicate incursion into her space. She felt the fingers insinuating themselves inside the robe, tracing the line of her collar bone. Almost imperceptibly, Vayne moved closer and his arm draped around her more firmly.

"Do you think Larsa is happy here or should I send him elsewhere?"

Drace swallowed hard as the encroaching hand reached her breast, cupping it and rolling the nipple between thumb and forefinger. She knew to resist his advances might easily result in her imprisonment or even her death. Vayne was a ruthless man. Were she done away with, Larsa would be without one of his major defenders. That must not happen. She thought with desperate speed.

"I...I think he does well here, my lord."

"Ah, that's good to know. I would be devastated if anything unfortunate befell him." Something seemed to flare in his eyes.

Was it her imagination or was there a fresh threat in the words? Her fear for Larsa abruptly stilled her body's automatic response to the caress. The nipple, which had erected under Vayne's skillful manipulation, grew soft again and her breath slowed even as she could hear his become more rapid. The solution to her dilemma crept into her mind. Let him do as he wished, she could control her body and be dead to him. She could absence her spirit from whatever happened to her flesh so long as she continued to think of the boy and the danger to him. That was it! How long would so arrogant a man as Vayne make love to a vacant husk before he gave up in disgust?

So she made no protest either in word or gesture when he turned her toward him and, tipping up her face, kissed her roughly, pressing with contemptuous authority, forcing her lips apart. She felt his tongue against her teeth and let her mouth open slackly. His invasion met with no resistance; she did not respond but focused her thoughts on the trusting face of her young charge.

Vayne drew away and looked at her with an amused expression. The fire in his dark eyes had not diminished.

He untied the sash at her waist and slipped the robe from her shoulders, letting it pool around her hips. Pushing her back against the pillows of the couch, he dipped his sleek head to her naked breast and took the nipple in his mouth, fretting it with his teeth and teasing it with his tongue. The sensation made Drace momentarily forget her resolve and she caught a ragged breath as her body arched to meet him. Disgusted with her weakness, she wrenched her mind back to the fate of Larsa and, with satisfaction, felt her traitor body obey her will. She was not there feeling the adroit lovemaking of the man who held her in his arms; she was elsewhere, looking with profound disinterest at the actions of the pair on the couch in the shadowy room. As from a distance, she saw him bend over her body and trail caresses down her torso to her belly, his dark hair sweeping against her white skin. She felt nothing, willing numbness to her senses.

Even when his hand slid up the inside her leg, parting her thighs, she did not respond. Not even when his long fingers penetrated her and touched her most intimately and in ways that normally sent her panting with desire did she break her cold indifference and acknowledge his activity.

A sudden stillness made her look up to see Vayne staring at her. He looked at her for a long time and she felt as though he was searching her very thoughts, understanding exactly why she was doing what she did.

"Madame Judge, am I boring you? Would you like a book to read while I do what I will?" The expression on his face was a mixture of anger and chagrin. He removed his hands from her body and leaned away from her. "Perhaps you would rather return to your quarters and your solitude. I do not force myself upon an unwilling lover. There are enough who are not only willing but eager."

Drace pulled the robe about her once more. "Was there something else you wanted, my lord?"

"Obviously nothing you're inclined to give me. No, please feel at liberty to return to your chambers." He sprawled back against the cushions and waved her away.

Drace pushed herself up from the too-soft couch and walked over to the armor rack, letting the crumpled robe slid off her shoulders and fall behind her. Without troubling to pull on the sweat-wet arming tunic, she stepped into her familiar carapace, the chill of the metal welcome against her fevered skin. When she was covered again, she turned and saluted the man who watched her with a quizzical eye. "My lord!"

Vayne smiled ruefully. "You're a clever one and I won't forget. Not you nor your attitude. You don't need to worry about the boy. My brother is safe with and from me. Believe me or not as you choose but I care for the lad and would never hurt him."

She looked at him closely and, for this space of time, found herself believing him. It would not last but she was oddly comforted by his assurances. She nodded and tucked her helmet under her arm. "My lord."

As she left him, Drace was at once aware of the feel of metal sliding along her bare skin. She knew she would suffer for leaving off the padded underwear. There would be chafed spots and painful blisters in awkward places but it was worth it. She was out of that stifling room, free to return to her own rooms, unscathed both in body and in honour. She had won her battle and at a smaller cost than she had been willing to pay. She strode with a singing heart and a light step down the bright corridor to the outer door.

Gabranth was waiting for her. For a moment she was surprised. It seemed to her she had been away for weeks and she had not expected him to be so faithful for so long.

"How did it go? What did he want? You all right?" His words stumbled over themselves. He raised his hand and gently ran his knuckles along her cheek.

"He wanted to talk about Larsa and wondered if I thought he might be happier somewhere else. I told him no and that was that."

"Hm..." Gabranth sniffed. "You smell like a whorehouse. What's been going on?"

Drace laughed somewhat shakily. "I'll tell you later. Want to spend the night?"

"Sure. What are friends for?" Gabranth dropped an armored arm across her armored shoulders and the two clanked into the dark quadrangle on their way home.

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

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